Odysseys
by Reckoner183
Summary: The stories of some of the South Park characters after reaching adulthood.
1. Stan

"Wake up, Stan."

"Just a minute," Stan groaned. "I'm tired..."

"We can't wait. You need to get up."

Recognising the urgency in his tone, Stan slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

His eyesight sharpened, and the face of the blurry figure standing next to him became clearer. A young man with brown hair and brown eyes, already dressed. His dorm mate, Edward Williamson - also known as Ed.

"You have ten minutes," Ed said. "I'll wait at the door." He left.

"Thanks, man." Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Stan Marsh pulled on his usual clothes - a brown button-up shirt with a red collar and blue pants. He walked into the washroom.

Soon after, feeling refreshed, Stan joined Ed and they filed out, joining the long stream of students coming out of their rooms at Carman Hall.

It was a cool, clear morning on a school day at one of the most prestigious learning institutes in the country - Columbia University, New York.

* * *

Stan was a long way from Colorado.

As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't stop thinking about his past. Just the previous year, he had graduated from high school in South Park with distinction, getting great results in many subjects. The results were good enough to get him into most universities. After some consideration, he chose Columbia, for various reasons.

For one, he liked New York and had some relatives there that could help him out. Secondly, he had checked the syllabus and it covered what he wanted to do, which was a degree in biology, his best subject. He was not lacking in finances, either - he had some loans, but his parents helped cover the school fees, especially his father Randy. His family kept in touch with him and contacted him regularly. Except his sister Shelly, who left for Denver and cut off all contact.

There was a fourth reason, too. He didn't want to admit it, but it was the most important reason.

"Are you still asleep or something?" Ed asked, walking up beside him.

"No, just thinking." The voice snapped Stan out of his reverie. He changed his thoughts, to the activities of the day ahead. It was going to be long and stressful, but he knew it was worth it. He needed a degree.

* * *

Half the day later, feeling tired from sitting too long, and hungry, Stan walked out of his last lecture.

He knew that university life would be stressful, but he never expected it to be so difficult.The content was not too hard to grasp, by his standards, but it was incredibly heavy and could only be learned by rote, though there were experiments and investigations. Stan knew full well that he had to do independent reading to follow the lectures, which meant a lot of revision and review. Besides, there were some papers to write and submit...

Ed, his classmate, walked up alongside him. The pair made small talk, mainly focusing on the day's events.

It was a coincidence that the pair had ended up together. Being new to the school, Stan had to settle for a shared room in a dorm frequently used by first year students; Carman Hall, a comfortable place with a relaxing atmosphere.

Ed had liked him from the first day and was the first person to befriend him. He even showed him around the campus grounds and answered his questions. As time went on, Stan learned more about him. He was studious and hardworking, always meeting his deadlines. He hoped to get a doctorate degree, for a job in research and development. Stan wished he could be more like his friend; for now, his own future was less certain.

Ed also shared a little about his past. His home town was in Albany, the state capital. His brother had graduated from the campus, and used to take him to visit the school. In response, Stan told him about his past life in Colorado and the shenanigans with his friends. Kyle, Cartman and Kenny. The last of them he had seen was Kyle, who had seen him off at the airport. That felt like ages ago.

"So, any plans for today?" Ed asked.

"Kind of. I'm going out with a friend. We're eating together."

Ed chuckled and glanced at him slyly. "Say hello to your... friend for me. I've got some work to catch up on, see you later. Enjoy yourself."

Stan nudged his arm jokingly. After a quick goodbye, the pair set off in different directions.

Stan had wanted to walk over to his friend's block to wait for her, but it wasn't necessary. It only took a few steps before he found her, walking alone in a throng of people. A young woman, the same height as himself, dressed in a purple shirt and yellow pants, just like he remembered her in high school. Wendy Testaburger.

As he locked eyes with her, he felt a sudden rush of joy and happiness, which he had known ever since he met Wendy about a decade ago. That reminded him of his lectures. Doing things that one found enjoyable, caused dopamine to be released in the brain. It functioned as a hormone and neurotransmitter, that stimulated feelings of happiness. In other words, his thoughts and emotions were just chemicals mixing around in his head. And yet, this felt very real.

Then Wendy was in front of him, smiling, and leaned into his arms. After a quick hug, she kissed him briefly before pulling away.

"You look great today," Stan remarked.

Wendy laughed. "Thanks, Stan. What's new?"

As they walked along, holding hands, Stan started talking animatedly, telling her about his day. About his friends, professors, and anything else he could think of; including his coursework, although he doubted she could understand much of it.

In exchange, Wendy told him about her own experiences. She was taking a course in social sciences, which she had been interested in since high school. She was happy; she had a good relationship with her professors, and had already made some good friends. To Stan, the content sounded rather abstract and complex, who had never liked the subject much.

"Where should we eat?" Stan asked suddenly, changing the topic. "I was thinking of JJ's place. That's always open."

"You'll end up like Cartman if you eat there too much. Follow me. I know where to go..."

* * *

Some time later, the pair were seated opposite each other, at a table in John Jay dining hall, digging into their meals. It was a huge place, bustling with activity; and with too many options to choose from. There was even kosher food for Jewish students, which Kyle would have liked. Wendy chose a salad, while Stan, to avoid any complaints, grabbed one too.

As they ate in silence, Stan's mind drifted back on the long, complicated relationship between them. They had both been born and grew up in the town of South Park, and had first met in elementary school. Ever since the first few days of their friendship, he had had a small crush on her, which grew into an on-and-off romantic relationship. They sometimes had arguments and broke up for a few weeks to months, but somehow he would always make up with her. Only in the past two years, did their bond get much more personal and exclusive.

Ever since they became friends, Stan had always been surprised by how mature she was, for her age. Since her youth, Wendy had always been strongly liberal, and a vocal feminist. She had been doing public speaking on major issues ever since she was ten. Back then, it felt that she was an adult in a teenager's body. Stan sometimes felt that this affected their relationship, as she was too mature for him. Or perhaps, he was too immature and irresponsible to be with her...

"Stan," said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"I just wondered... did you ever stay in touch with any of your old friends?" Wendy asked.

Stan was mildly surprised, that she had been thinking of the past as well. A strange coincidence.

"Kyle, I guess. I was always his close friend, and we still are. He's at the other side of the country now. And Kenny, who studies just over at the next state, but he rarely contacts me. As for everyone else, I don't know much. I lost contact with most of them."

"And Cartman?"

Stan laughed bitterly. "Well, you know he dropped out of school. I visited him a few times, but I can't fix him. No one can. I don't care what happens to him anymore... Anyway, how about your friends? Where did they end up?"

"I only keep in contact with Bebe Stevens. She's doing college back in Colorado. And there's Heidi, but she was never close to me. At Princeton University."

"I'm not surprised," Stan said, as he emptied the bowl. "Well, goodbye Wendy. I need to go." He slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up, grabbing the bowl.

"Bye, Stan."


	2. Cartman

Slowly, his eyes flickered and he could feel his consciousness returning to the cold, unforgiving world. Reality.

He tried to cling on to the last fragments of the dream, but it just slipped away, like water through his fingers. A rambling, incoherent mess.

He was really awake now, lying on a soft surface, his cheek pressed against it. His mouth tasted terrible, like something had died in his throat. But the only thing he cared about was the pain.

It felt like someone was beating on the inside of his head with an anvil. He'd gotten hungover before. This was so much worse. He pressed his fingers to two points in his head, just behind his eyebrows, and closed his eyes. At that moment, it all came back.

His name was Eric Theodore Cartman. He was 18 years old and lived with his mother. With no job, no education and no formal training.

How did he get into this state? His memories chased each other around his mind. Vaguely, he remembered taking electronic products in high school. And scribbling on walls, damaging his teachers' cars, and viciously bullying his classmates.

Maybe he thought there would be do consequences. All his life, he was used to people letting him get away with things. When they finally kicked him out of high school, he had felt overjoyed. He hated school. He hated those people, who called themselves his friends but didn't actually know him.

But things changed. Now that he could really stay in and do nothing all day, the fun very quickly wore off. He was a purposeless, lost, drifting through his life and wasting his time. Wasting himself.

Since his mother was drinking, to wash away her misery and depression, he borrowed some of her alcohol. He also knew that she took cough medicine as a drug to get her high, so he started using that too. And once he turned eighteen, he started on cigarettes. At that point he didn't care what happened to his health.

There were people who did, though. His friends. His past friends.

When was the last time he'd seen them? Weeks or months ago, he couldn't remember, the three of them paid him the last visit. Stan, Kyle and Kenny. He had raged and screamed at them and wallowed in his anger and self-pity...

He pressed on his head even harder. squeezing his eyes shut, trying to clear his head. He couldn't think about it. About them. The pain was becoming unbearable.

"Mom," he called out.

No response.

"Mom!"

Still nothing. Eric swallowed his anger and frustration and tried to get himself out of the bed. He missed the floor and crashed to the ground in a flailing heap. The world spun around him. He was too disoriented to get up.

After a few moments lying on the cold ground, he grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up. His legs had a hard time supporting his weight, but at least he could still fit through the door. He was overweight, mostly because his mother often bought him fast food. That, and her inability to refuse him.

He lumbered off, found himself an aspirin and put it in his mouth, gagging it down his throat with water. He then made his way back into his room and collapsed on the bed. He really didn't feel like getting out of the room today. Maybe he could-

* * *

When he woke up, it was 1:42 in the afternoon. His head felt slightly better, but was still sore.

Going on his phone, the first thing Eric found was a text from his mom. She was out working, and would be back for dinner. Of course. She was now a cook at a tiny fast food joint on the other side of town, since she had gotten kicked out of her past job. She was too old and frumpy for that job.

She had left him money for food. He was ravenously hungry and famished. He needed to eat.

Eric really didn't feel like getting out, so he called for a pizza delivery and lazed around, waiting.

After going online to kill a little time, the doorbell rang. He let them wait for a minute, then got up and lumbered down to the door. The delivery man stood outside, a tall young man with blond hair. Eric accepted the pizza and paid up before slamming the door. Through the doorhole, he saw the man scowl as he turned and left.

He didn't know what happened next. One moment he was opening the pizza box, the next it was 7:00 pm and he was lying stoned in a chair. What did he even do to pass the time? He vaguely remembered gaming and watching television, while getting high. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day...

He knew what the problem was. He just didn't like to admit it. Back in high school, he had never been happy either. He was always angry, at his friends, his mom or something. That was the only way he ever used his intellect - for devising elaborate revenge plans to get back at the people who hurt him. He had a way with words and was manipulative. Somehow, the people who picked on him ended up hurt, or worse.

When he dropped from school, he had been glad. Finally, he no longer needed to sit in a hard chair for 10 hours a day, listening to an old man ramble on about things he never wanted to know, and would never need to. The feeling of freedom and liberty only lasted a week or two before he came to hate it too.

And now, he couldn't even take out his anger on other people. This time, the only enemy was himself.

He heard a faint, unmistakable sound. The door slamming against the doorstop. Footsteps. His mom. Then she was next to him.

"I'm back, sweetie," his mom said, tapping on his shoulder. "I brought you food. How was your day?"

"It was terrible," Cartman said flatly. "I hated it. Now give me the food."

Liane Cartman hugged him briefly before putting a plastic bag full of junk food on the table. "I got you your favourite food, honey. Chicken, fries and a soda. With gravy, the way you like it."

With a grunt, he grabbed the paper box and ripped it open, while his mom sat across him, eating the same meal. They ate in silence. Cartman wasn't that hungry, but he stuffed his face full of food, forcing it down his throat and swallowing with gulps of soda. Which wasn't sweet, but was sharp against the roof of his mouth.

"Eric, did you think about it?" his mom asked, breaking the silence.

"No, Mom. Never."

"But-"

"Damn it Mom. How hard is it for you to understand? I didn't apply for it. And I don't need or want it."

"All right, Eric. But if you change your mind, our place could always hire you. The pay is decent, but at least you get free food."

Eric ignored her and continued eating, waving away his mom's efforts at conversation. After polishing the bones with his teeth, he got up from the chair. "Bathroom," he grunted, leaving his mom to herself.

A minute later, he slammed down the toilet seat and got down on it. The hinge groaned under his weight and he forced soft brown gunk out into the bowl. After a few moments of pushing, the pain in his stomach subsided.

His vision went blurry, and the world spun around him. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, and just burned out. Spots flashed in his eyes. He needed a rest. Just a quick break -


	3. Kenny

"I think I'll stop here for now."

Kenny stared at the board. A thick jumble of symbols and numbers filled it from end to end. Integrals, partial derivatives and summations were tightly packed with variables and constants...

He could understand most of it, except for a few sections that he needed time to process. As everyone else started filing out, he remained at his seat; focusing on the messy, disorganised writing, occasionally jotting down some notes on his lecture pad.

As he gazed at the writing, he was struck by just how far he had come. A few years ago, he would never be able to understand anything the professor had just said. He would have been surprised to find himself here at all. What it took, was a few strange turns of fate and a lot of luck.

He found his mind wandering and snapped back to the present. He penned down a last equation, then did a last quick review of the whole page.

As he tried to satisfy his mind, answering the most pressing questions, he leaned back and picked up the cheap ballpoint pen. He deftly twirled it around his fingers, transferring it among the spaces between them. It was something he learned from Tweek, a friend of his back in high school. Kenny briefly wondered how he was doing back in Colorado.

After wrapping up his thoughts, Kenny decided it was time to go. He tossed up the pen, caught it with his other hand and slipped it into his old, used pencil case which contained his most prized possessions - a pencil, a worn eraser, a small sharpener, a ruler, compass and a beautiful graphing calculator, which had followed him for years. After his father had smashed the first one, he worked his ass off to get enough money for another.

Kenny stowed away his lecture notes and stationery into a bag, then left quickly. Nobody followed him. Nobody noticed him.

He was going to have an incredibly long day.

* * *

Kenny was tired.

He had been tired before, but this was different. It was the kind of tiredness that no amount of sleep would fix. A raw, dull ache, gnawing away at his soul. It felt like a bullet lodged in his chest, fragmented into tiny pieces of shrapnel, digging closer to his heart.

He sometimes wondered, what was the point? Of working a part time job serving food and pouring drinks on the campus grounds, and taking all the loans he could get, just to put himself through highly repetitive and technically complex lectures for a slip of paper?

He took physics, of course. He was no good in anything else, or simply lacked interest. Yet, at one of the best schools in the country, they wanted him to take courses in other subjects. Perhaps inspired by the stories of a former graduate, Richard Feynman, he took philosophy.

He never cared, not seriously, but he found at least a passing interest, especially in the subject of nihilism. For ages, humans had believed that simply raising one's socioeconomic status was key to happiness and self-fulfillment. But in this time and age, when humans no longer faced a constant struggle for survival, purpose lay elsewhere. It lay in the meaning one assigned to his own life. Some could find it. Many never did.

But that was only part of his struggle, Kenny knew. The rest, the largest part, was his family.

In that respect, he was different from almost everyone he had met. They had parents to look over them and pay the bills, people they could look up to. His parents were gone. So was his elder brother... every time he thought of Kevin McCormick, the ache in his chest worsened, like someone was twisting a dagger in his stomach.

There was only one person left that he cared about, one of the few bright spots in his difficult, unstable life.

Kenny became aware of the uncomfortable twinge in his spine and shifted. At that moment, he was lying on his side in the dorm bed, idly solving differential equations. His roommate was out; where to, he didn't much care.

It wasn't hard, just tedious. As long as he understood the basics, he could plow through most of the questions with ease. He applied the finishing touches on the last problem in the chapter, and after admiring the curls on his integral signs, he slammed shut the cover of his lecture pad and sat up, pushing his blonde hair back from his eyes.

The light shining in through the window was too bright, and slightly distracting. He walked up to draw shut the curtains, cutting off an awesome view of the river. At the very least, the campus had some awesome facilities, he mused. The dorm he had been assigned, Baker House, was an impressive W-shaped building facing the river, affording most students a great view from their window. Oddly, there was a dorm named after him, which was sadly reserved for female students. He would have loved to stay in McCormick Hall.

Done with the day's work, Kenny knew it was definitely time to sleep, but there was just one thing he had to do. He sat down in front of his laptop, angled up the screen, and hit the power button. Once it was on, he headed to Skype. What had his roommate said? "An ancient relic that was a novelty to use in the modern age." He chuckled to himself and clicked the video call option, for the only contact.

A few moments later, she appeared on the screen. A girl, a few years younger than him, with his eyes and his smile. Her hair was a few shades darker, but with the same state of unkemptness. His sister, Karen.

"Kenny!" she cried out eagerly. Her eyes lit up. "I missed you..."

"Love you too," Kenny said. The dull ache lessened, slightly. It was always there, but whenever he talked to his little sister, he felt more at ease, as if she shared his pain. It also made him aware of how far he was from home, how truly alone he was.

"I wanted to call, but I didn't want to bother you. I've been waiting for your call for a few days," she confessed. "I was worried about you. How's it going?"

"I'm..." the words caught in his throat. He knew what he wanted to say - that he was fine, happy, and perfectly stable, which was a lie. He struggled to find the right word. He didn't need to. She could feel it.

"Kenny," she said gently. "It's OK.

I know."

She didn't say _I __could help _or _I'm here. _She simply told him that she understood exactly how he felt, and he loved her for that.

"Let's talk about something else," Kenny suggested. "What've you been up to?"

She rambled on about her high school life, back in Colorado. About her friends, their musical and fashion preferences, her teachers, and her grades, which were above average. Not good enough to become his junior, but consistent. And of course, her foster parents.

He just sat and listened. Her voice was comforting, soothing his frayed nerves, and giving him a little respite. Just watching her speak at length about nothing in particular took his mind of his studies and job. After a while, he spoke a little about how he was fitting in at MIT, and what he was learning.

When he was speaking to her, it seemed like time passed too quickly. Soon enough, she needed to hang up.

"Goodbye, Kenny," she sighed. "Remember to call. If anything's wrong, just tell me."

"Bye." With a last, long look, Kenny terminated the call and closed the laptop.

A few minutes later, the room was dark and he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.


	4. Kyle

A young man, dressed in orange and green, with curly, close-cropped red hair, unlocked the stall door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

He crossed over to the sink, gathered soap on his palm, and thoroughly cleaned his hands, before leaning forward to splash water over his cheeks. Feeling refreshed, Kyle wadded up some toilet paper to wipe his hands dry before walking out of the door, tossing the wad into the bin as he left.

He walked swiftly, opening the door of the teaching room and finding his assigned seat, close to the door. A quick glance at the clock told him that there were ten minutes left.

He tried to connect his mind back to the lesson, figuring out what he had missed in the stall. The professor often rambled on and went off tangent, so he hadn't missed anything of importance. A few more minutes of listening and he could finally take a break.

Kyle yawned, still feeling tired, and jotted down some more notes. It was a strange phenomenon that he had observed for years - the best students meticulously copied down everything the teacher said, in cute notebooks, even if it was all available in the shared drive. For a long time, he didn't bother to, and simply listened. However, he couldn't perform nearly as well, and combined with his teacher's advice, he started taking notes just for the sake of it. It caused absolutely no difference, but his results were well above average, so he never really cared.

As his teacher went off another tangent, he dropped the pen and started sipping water from his bottle. The water tasted metallic, and he grimaced as he swallowed it. After a long deep draught, he heard the sound of his teacher returning to the right track and went on to copy down some key points from the slide he was showing from his PowerPoint presentation.

Ten minutes can be a long time, but it can pass quickly. This time, it was over more quickly than Kyle expected, as Mr. Johnson wrapped up the last few points and concluded the lesson. The middle-aged man, with thinning hair, packed up quickly for his next class and left with a last goodbye.

Most of the class were set for a break after the lesson, including Kyle. Some, of course, for other classes. The students started filing out of the door, in a shapeless crowd.

Kyle remained seated and reached into his bag to pull out his most treasured possession. A worn, frayed hardcover book, with yellowed pages filled with small dark print. A siddur.

He ran his finger over the words on the cover and the spine, then flipped it open.

At that point, Kyle became aware of a group of friends gathered around him. One of the students clapped a hand to his shoulder.

"Hey, Kyle. You coming with us to eat?" Josh asked.

"Yeah, I'm going. Don't wait for me, I'll find you all." Kyle answered, leafing through the book.

"The usual place," another friend chimed in. "Be there quickly, or you'll miss us. Hey, maybe Dave could to pray with you."

"Good idea," Dave said. "Hang on, I need to get mine out." He unzipped his bag and started fishing through it.

"Well, see you guys around." Josh shook his shoulders, then left. The others followed him, with a few muttered goodbyes. Dave pulled out his own Jewish prayerbook and pulled up a chair to sit next to Kyle.

David Hagen was one of the first friends that Kyle had made at the University of Colorado. He was born and raised in Boulder, one of the few Jewish citizens. He had never been vocal or friendly, not like Kyle, but he was quiet and stoic. After being put in the same course, on business and management, the pair bonded quickly over their faith. Kyle took care of him, by including him in his forming circle of friends and insisting that others talk to him. They got along pretty well.

"So, what kind of thing are you hoping for?" Dave asked absentmindedly, settling on a page. He leaned back, touching the tips of his fingers together.

Kyle hesitated. "I prefer not to say," he muttered at last. "The same as you, maybe." Dave laughed.

Silence fell over the pair. At this moment, just letting the sounds of the world wash over everything, Kyle felt at peace. Like there was something watching over him, taking care of him. He had felt the presence of God for a long time.

In his mind, Kyle recited a silent prayer. To his parents, a long drive away. Taking care of his brother, now in high school. Ike.

He made another heartfelt prayer, this time to his adopted brother. Their relationship was complex. Kyle sometimes hated him, wanted him gone. It was irrational, stupid, but he did it anyway. Back in elementary school, he would even take his anger out on him. The kid grew up to resent it, and grew apart from both him and God. But overall, deep down, Kyle hoped that he was OK.

Lastly, he prayed for his studies, his work, and importantly, a pair of old friends. Craig, whom he had known since elementary school, hadn't really changed since then. He was silent, calm and loyal, especially to his best friend. Not that Kyle had ever been close to him.

These days, every time they met in the hall, they said a quick hello, an awkward conversation, and more often than not, nothing. Most of the time when Kyle kept his silence, Craig was with another old classmate of his. Tweek. Despite his age, Tweek was still pretty much a child, and a very troubled one.

Kyle decided to round it off and closed the book. A few moments later, Dave yawned, flipped over the cover and stood. "Let's go."

"Yeah."

* * *

Josh laughed suddenly, across the table.

Kyle put down the cup, swilled the mouthful of lukewarm water around, and swallowed it. "What's so funny?"

"Ah, nothing. Just remembering." Josh muttered. He suddenly changed the subject. "Let's play," he suggested, pushing his plate forward and resting both hands on the table with a grin.

Kyle put down his hands, curled into fists, with his thumbs resting on his curled index fingers. Dave, sitting beside him, joined in. John declined, despite Josh's friendly push on the shoulder and watched them with interest.

"Zero," Kyle said abruptly. Dave flicked a thumb up. Kyle sighed.

"One," Josh blurted out. Kyle instinctively put up both thumbs, and so did Dave. It wasn't going to be easy.

Dave watched them all, poker faced. He was a legend at this game, and often chided them for playing like amateurs. He let the silence stretch out, as if trying to find the perfect moment.

"Two," he said softly. Kyle's left thumb was up. Josh's right was too. Dave tucked his hand under the table. "Hey, treat me to drinks if I win," Dave suggested.

"Nah, you should treat us if you don't win - zero," said Kyle, catching both completely unaware. Seeing no thumb up, Kyle lowered a hand. One to win.

"Three," Josh said immediately after, lifting both thumbs. No one else did. "Come on," he protested.

"Zero," said Dave, and stood up, picking up his tray and turning to go. Kyle exchanged a look that was both shocked and partially unsurprised with Josh, then followed suit.

"Were you serious about the drinks?" Josh called out.

* * *

A few grueling hours later, Kyle shifted the strap of his bag, feeling the piece of plastic digging into his shoulder. Finally, he was on the way home. That was how he thought of the dorm now - not much, but it was where he belonged.

Thinking of the next long, gruelling day, Kyle sighed. It was going to be a difficult journey, but he would be free soon. One day...


End file.
